The Penitent: De Wolfe Pack Connected World Read online

  “Da!”

  Iseabal’s heart thudded at the gleeful sound of Ewan’s voice. She shared a hesitant look with Marsaili. Her sister shrugged, a smug grin on her face.

  “I dinnae have to promise. Simon has already given him one.”

  Iseabal startled. “He cannae . . . .”

  “Och, aye, he can. But dinnae fash. Geoffrey assures me the pony is sturdy and kind, and has raised a number of children. He’s a fat beast, and the village baker drove a hard bargain.”

  Marsaili touched Iseabal’s hand. “Simon deserves a lass like ye who will love him, not a calculating witch like Kaily, who, for all her beauty, cannae see beyond her next gown. Give him a chance.”

  “I’ve always said your sister has a bright head upon her shoulders,” Simon commented as he completed the distance to Iseabal, clearly close enough to hear her words. Ewan bounced upon Simon’s broad shoulders, scarcely enough weight to bother a man used to chain mail and armor.

  From his great height, Ewan sent Iseabal a shy look. “Da!” he said, patting Simon’s head.

  “And I’m your Uncle Geoffrey,” Lord de Wylde interjected, reaching up for Ewan. The lad hesitated then held his arms out, leaning trustingly to the other man. “Ye are coming with us for a day or two, and Aggie will tag along to be certain ye eat your vegetables.”

  Ewan wrinkled his face and settled onto Lord de Wylde’s shoulders. “Pony! Let’s go!” He tugged Geoffrey’s longer hair as though the dark strands were reins.

  “Ow!” Lord de Wylde gave a mighty shake, his hands firm on the boy’s legs to keep from dislodging him. Ewan shrieked with laughter.

  Geoffrey sent Iseabal a pained look. “Make your decision fast. I’m not certain we’ll survive for long at the hands of Master Ewan.”

  Iseabal’s heart filled to overflowing. She’d never been surrounded by such loving acceptance in her life. Rather than attempt to pressure or shame her into marrying Ewan’s father, they treated her, Ewan, and Simon to good-natured teasing, as if she had complete control over the matter.

  It was a lie, but she loved them for giving her a bit of the dignity she’d bartered away five years ago.

  By the time Ewan’s belongings were gathered and he’d met—and Iseabal had approved—his new pony, Aggie arrived, Shep with her. The dog and the plump pony, whom Ewan promptly named Bausie, sniffed noses and instantly became friends, Shep crouching at Bausie’s flank while the crowd mounted and said their good-byes.

  With a tingle of wariness, anticipation, and something she couldn’t quite identify, Iseabal edged against Simon as his arm slid about her waist. The strength of his body, the gentle pressure of his hand, and the confidence of his possessive gesture reassured her. As did the low rumble of his voice.

  “I am glad ye agreed to allow Ewan to spend the next few days with your sister. He will be safe at Belwyck Castle. I am anxious to get to know him better, but I am also anxious to give us time together as well.”

  “I dinnae wish there to be regret between us. I dinnae wed any of the lads my da tried to force on me because I knew they offered marriage for reasons other than me.”

  “Ye are a strong woman. I like that about ye.”

  Simon urged her forward, and they strolled across the bailey and through the gates. Sunlight glinted off the de Wylde knights’ armor and harnesses several lengths ahead. With a glance and a nod to the guards at the gate, Simon continued to a small burn that bubbled beside the road. Finally, they halted, and he braced a booted foot upon a large rock.

  “Tell me how ye got here,” he said. “Why ye traveled at night to arrive at Friar’s Hill with naught more than a boy, his nurse, and an old man at your side.”

  “And a dog. Dinnae forget Shep.” Iseabal couldn’t resist the tease, though she belatedly remembered Shep had bitten one of Simon’s knights.

  “He did his best to protect ye,” Simon agreed. “Though hardly enough to count him as enough protection for your journey.”

  Iseabal perused the burn as she sorted through her thoughts. The gurgle of water soothed her. She pulled her cloak from her shoulders, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Simon took her cloak and draped it over a boulder.

  “My da wasnae an easy man. Aggie had been after me for some time to leave Eaglesmuir—and him—and come here where her sister lives. I knew ’twas a good decision, but ’twas difficult to abandon all I knew.” She ducked her head. “No matter how bad, he was all the family I had left.”

  Simon touched her cheek, tilted her face up, and gently kissed her lips. He held her gaze until she gave a small nod of understanding.

  I am your family. Ye are mine.

  “When Da was caught reiving, English knights were sent to punish him. He holed up in Eaglesmuir until the walls fell. A large stone struck him, and though he lingered for more than a sennight, he died.

  “As he lay dying, our people left the keep. ’Tis difficult to admit he wasnae popular even with his own people, but by the time he passed, only a handful remained. A few returned for his funeral, but ’twas only the four of us that eve when Albert and James Maxwell arrived to take over the keep.”

  “James Maxwell is the one I caught attempting to steal sheep the night ye arrived in Friar’s Hill.”

  “Aye. And a more daupit man I’ve never encountered.” A faint smile tilted her lips as she realized the portent of her words. “And I’ve known my fair plenty.”

  “We captured two of his men that night.” Simon’s voice, tight and drawn, tested her reaction.

  “I know. I couldnae believe they’d followed me this far . . . .”

  “They did not follow ye. They were after sheep. Do not feel guilty for their deaths.”

  Iseabal blinked back tears. “The world is often cruel. I cannae claim responsibility for everyone’s mistakes.”

  “No. But mayhap ye and I together can weather what storms come our way. Mayhap create some things to rejoice over.”

  Iseabal’s smile returned. “’Tis only the first day, Sir Simon. Or did ye mean to cheat me of my three days?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Simon caught Iseabal’s hands and drew her close. “I most certainly am not planning on losing a moment of the next three days.” He cupped her face in his palms. “I do, howbeit, plan on cheating whenever the opportunity arises.”

  Iseabal’s heartbeat spiked as he slowly lowered his lips to hers. The scent of something spicy that was all Simon filled her senses. The taste of whisky warmed her as his tongue parted her lips, drawing the intimacy deeper.

  A hum of approval fluttered in Iseabal’s throat unbidden, her body instantly recalling the passion that had once flared between them and set her aflame. She leaned against him, pressing her breasts against his solid chest, her belly cradling the rigid proof of his desire.

  His hands slid to her shoulders and forward, caressing her breasts, lifting them, thumbs stroking her nipples into hard peaks that ached for his touch.

  Iseabal gasped, her attention instantly drawn from the thorough exploration of her mouth, to heat spiking in her belly. Her breasts filled his hands, strained against the cloth of her dress.

  Simon’s hands dropped to her waist. He ended the kiss, placing his forehead against hers as his breathing slowed. He straightened.

  “We should return to the keep.”

  Iseabal startled, aware of the bodice of her dress slanting off one shoulder, her hair sliding from its braid and hanging about her face. Cheating or not, this was moving faster than she was ready for. Marci and Ewan were scarcely out of sight and he proposed to return to the keep—why? He’d promised three days of wooing, and it had been perhaps three minutes. She was not ready to stumble into his bed. Stubbornness reared its head.

  She drew back, straightening her bodice. “I dinnae believe . . . .”

  A slight frown crossed his face and she realized his attention was not on her, but on the wooded area some distance away. He glanced at her and flashed a smile. Meant to reassure, but it sent Iseabal
’s heart racing again as he drew her against his side.

  Danger. They were in danger.

  “Ewan,” she breathed, her throat tight with dread.

  Simon’s chuff of laughter startled her.

  “My heart, did ye not see the men Ewan rides with? ’Twill take more than Scottish reivers to put our child in danger.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear and she patted it absently into place.

  Iseabal’s mind whirled. Seeing the truth of Ewan’s safety. Simon’s alert telling her Scottish reivers were in the area—could it be James Maxwell?

  Hearing the affirmation Ewan was our child. Not hers alone, nor his to take from her. But their child. To raise together, should she agree to his proposal.

  “There will come a time when this, too, will be protected from attack.” He nodded to the land immediately around them and Iseabal slid from her musings to note the beginnings of a second wall. “This will be large enough for all the villagers, should the need arise. But until then, ’tis safer inside the keep.”

  Simon grasped her hand and led her the short distance back through the gates. He halted as Garin strode toward them.

  “Promise me ye will not leave these gates again without either myself or a guard I have given ye.”

  Conscious of the men on the wall who observed everything with interest—including what had just occurred outside the walls—Iseabal nodded, her cheeks heating.

  The blush on Iseabal’s cheeks was becoming, giving her pale skin a hint of the intimacy they’d shared moments ago. Hell, everything about her intrigued him, fueled a passion he’d all but forgotten. Kaily and her predecessors had met a need he’d mistaken for an appetite which could be indulged but never sated.

  Until now. He’d not made love to her, scarcely touched her beyond a kiss—though the kiss had startled him with how quickly it flared beyond his control—yet his hunger for her defied a simple toss in bed. He wanted her, wanted to love her, protect her. Never let her out of his sight again. He would give everything he owned to make her smile—and to plant another bairn in her belly.

  Three days. He had three days to win her heart again. From her response he’d little doubt he’d accomplish the feat, but he wanted her complete attention. Worry over Ewan was the last thing she needed. He could take that trouble from her.

  “Ewan is in good hands. Ye know this, do ye not?”

  “Aye. I trust my sister to have his best interests at heart, and I trust yer liege lord to keep Ewan safe.” She placed her fingertips against the front of his tunic. “And I trust ye wouldnae allow our son to come to harm.”

  His heart beat erratically beneath her touch, pounded pridefully at her acknowledgement Ewan was his son as much as he was hers. Oh, yes, he certainly looked forward to another bairn.

  He bent and kissed her again, brief but pulling away reluctantly, letting her know how much he enjoyed the embrace, stopping before the kiss could become more intimate—though it was harder than he’d imagined, even with Garin only a few steps away. Letting her know that he respected her too much to create a spectacle, yet unafraid to claim her as his.

  He gripped her hand, twining his fingers with hers, keeping her firmly at his side as he shifted to hear what Garin had to say.

  The big man halted and gave Iseabal a respectful nod.

  “M’lady.” He turned to Simon. “M’lord. Cook has requested an interview at your earliest convenience.”

  Simon tilted his gaze to Iseabal, deferring to her. “My lady?”

  “Of course. Dinnae fash over me. I will find something else to do.” She wiggled her fingers, but he squeezed back, not releasing her hand.

  Simon crooked a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face to meet his gaze. “I will certainly need your help, my heart.”

  She sent him a puzzled glance, then nodded. They walked to the hall, Simon pointing out structures along the way. Not that he sensed a burning desire in her to acknowledge the smithy or weaponry—though she did show interest in the stables, which he filed away for later—but he found he enjoyed having her at his side. He was proud of his improvements to the keep, and being able to share his accomplishments and plans with her paired with the added pleasure in involving her and receiving her approval.

  Word of his interest in Iseabal and subsequent proposal must have traveled fast, for when they reached the hall, soldiers and servants nodded or bowed respectfully, their gazes lingering curiously on Iseabal. Her warm smile as she recognized each of them boded well for her future as lady of North Hall, and Simon grinned.

  Cook was a woman of middle years, dark hair mostly hidden beneath a kerchief, a twinkle in her eye, and a Scottish brogue as broad as the waistline her apron strings struggled to contain.

  “I’m in need of yer preferences fer the banquet, m’lord,” she reminded him. “A weddin’ feast takes some time to prepare. I willnae have it said Rhona dinnae do her duty by her lordship.”

  Iseabal’s eyes flew wide. Simon allowed a tiny edge of his amusement of her reaction to show and tucked her hand along his forearm, forestalling a potential bolt by his skittish bride-to-be.

  “My lady has not yet granted my request,” he drawled. “Never fear. This banquet will see her into the future of her choice.”

  The reassurance seemed to mollify both Iseabal and Rhona.

  Cook sniffed. “She’s a right comely lass and anyone can see why yer smitten with her.” She eyed Simon. “And there’s times when a Scottish lass could do worse than take an English lord as husband.”

  Simon blinked, sifting through Cook’s words to determine if she spoke a compliment or insult. His teeth showed in a slow grin of admiration.

  “If I have need of a voice on my council, would ye accept?”

  “I am free to choose my alliances,” Cook reminded him. “Howbeit, I willnae betray one fer another.”

  “Would ye approve this marriage?”

  “If ’tis her heart’s desire, I would defend it.” Cook cracked a smile. “Though I’d be careful should ye betray her heart.”

  “A threat?”

  Cook waggled a finger and raised a brow. “Nae, a warning to an impetuous English lord who enjoys a full belly.”

  “I like, ye, Rhona. I hope my lady does as well.” Impressed as he was with the new cook of North Hall, Simon wanted Iseabal to understand she had the right to build her own staff should she find any lacking.

  Iseabal smothered a smile. She’d found an ally within the hall and wondered what Rhona would spice Simon’s food with should she ever believe he trifled with her heart. It pleased her Rhona did not judge Simon or their potential marriage solely based on culture or which side of the Border they had been born. As Iseabal was coming to learn, love wasn’t about boundaries, but rather their lack.

  How to give someone the freedom to choose their future without the strictures of reminding them of the past? She’d put her love for Simon in a box of youthful expectations, anguished when he was unable to change to fit. Had she hated him when she discovered she was pregnant with Ewan? No. Hated that her plans had fallen so far, despaired of the path she’d chosen. But it had been her decision more than Simon’s, though she’d been unaware at the time how much his leaving her had cost him. Her only consideration had been how much his leaving had cost her.

  She turned a thoughtful gaze to Sir Simon Bretteby, now Lord of North Hall. His profile, chiseled and fine, had aged a bit. Time had etched fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and a thin white scar traced the angle of his jaw. But his eyes met hers with a twinkle and his lips turned up in soft humor.

  He’s always treated me fairly. I’ve never known judgement or criticism at his hand.

  He offers me security, respectability—and love?

  Her lips tingled. Oh, there was that, as well. Mayhap more likely passion, but where does the boundary between passion and love lie?

  “I will leave ye but a moment to see to the menu with Cook.” Simon kissed the backs of her fingers. “I will return.”<
br />
  Iseabal nodded, her heart giving a peculiar thud as he strode away.

  “M’lady?” Cook cleared her throat.

  “I believe I like ye, as well, Rhona,” Iseabal said. “Let’s see to the menu.”

  Cook had the plans well in hand, and Iseabal had little to remark. She learned Simon enjoyed roasted quail, but not redressed peacock.

  “He said he’d sooner not eat as to be reminded of the death of such a beautiful bird, though during mating season, I’d likely strangle the lot o’ ’em myself, as noisy as they are,” Cook confided. She glanced about. “Men. I’ve me work cut out fer me and nary a sign of m’lord.”

  “Dinnae fash over me,” Iseabal protested with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been looking after myself for a number of years. I’m nae dependent on m’lord now.”

  “Good to hear,” Cook replied. “Though I’ll not leave ye at loose ends.” She caught a passing young woman, her arms laden with a platter of bread and cheese for the hall.

  “Rosaline will keep ye company until m’lord returns.”

  Rosaline placed her platter on a nearby table and gave a brief curtsy. “M’lady.”

  Iseabal was struck by the young woman’s closed face, neither friendly nor hostile. No mischief lurked in the sad violet eyes.

  “I’m pleased to see ye again, Rosaline. Come walk with me and tell me about North Hall.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Simon halted in the entry to the hall, astonished at how hungry he was for the sight of Iseabal. And how much he’d feared she wouldn’t be in the hall when he returned. But she was, her raven hair gleaming with sunlight shining through the window slit high in the wall. She appeared in deep conversation with one of the servants—a young woman with red-gold hair Walter had once shown an interest in. He couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  He crossed to the table, smiling as Iseabal glanced up, the sparkle of welcome in her eyes. Sending a nod of dismissal to the serving girl, he presented Iseabal with a handful of flowers. She reached for them slowly with a shy tilt of her head.